


talk about big love

by strangetowns



Category: Nothing Much to Do
Genre: Established Relationship, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-22 21:59:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3744916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangetowns/pseuds/strangetowns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And it is impossible, it is almost certainly the most impossible thing he has ever had to do, but if Balthazar can still be standing and breathing and surviving after all this time, he will do it tomorrow, too. And he will do it for as long as it takes, until he can finally be in a place in the world that is close enough to Pedro to forget what it’s like to miss him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	talk about big love

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively: Pedro and Balthazar navigate the perils and joys of long distance, while the author navigates the limits of how many different timestamps she can randomly generate on her own before becoming overwhelmed with the desire to pull her hair out.
> 
> A few possibly helpful notes:  
> -Timestamps on text messages are all in Balthazar’s time zone, while timestamps on skype messages are in the time zone of whoever is sending them [this is totally a system that makes sense]  
> -There is a 16 hour difference between New Zealand and the US east coast  
> -Let us pretend that Pedro and Balthazar somehow both have international unlimited texting plans and leave it at that

Balthazar has a habit of getting to class early.

One would think that this would be unfathomable; for someone who on principle hates nothing, after all, he has a bit of a Thing with a capital T against mornings. But he likes being able to pick a seat at his own leisure, and he likes savoring the few moments of quiet he gets before the rest of the section floods in. He sits most often in the aisle near the back and is usually one of the first ones in the room. This morning, right as he sits down, another bleary-eyed student asks to sit next to him. He holds his coffee cup close to his chest and moves his bag out of the way, trying to be as little of an inconvenience as possible.

“Hey, I like your shirt,” the other student says when he sits down. “Twenty One Pilots, yeah? I saw them live this past summer, fucking spectacular.”

“Ha, thanks,” Balthazar says. “That’s incredible, honestly. I only wish I’d had the opportunity.”

“Just waiting until I can get hands on their new record, now. I’m feeling impatient.”

“Just waiting for this class to be over, but it’s not even 9 yet,” Balthazar says.

“God, I feel that.”

“Can’t wait to get home. Ugh.”

“Yeah? Got any plans tonight?” his classmate asks.

“I’ve got a date,” Balthazar answers, beaming.

“Nice! What’ll you guys be doing?”

“Probably just a movie, y’know? Something nice and simple.”

“You should buy them flowers,” he says. “Show ‘em you really care.”

“That’s a great idea,” Balthazar says, smiling gratefully. “Thanks very much.”

He stops by the flower shop on the way home from class, making sure he buys the biggest bunch of red carnations available. The weather outside is gorgeous and Balthazar is in a good mood, so he gives the florist an extra large tip just for having what he wanted.

When he gets home, he rummages around for a vase, but as a poor college student it’s no wonder he doesn’t own such luxuries. He settles for a half-empty jar of grape jam, pouring its contents into the bin – he’s not a huge fan of substances with questionable consistency, anyway – and washing it carefully in the sink. Once it’s to his satisfaction, he stuffs as many of the carnations as he can into the tiny thing and fills it with water. Carefully, he sets it on his desk and opens his laptop.

Almost immediately, he gets a skype notification informing him that someone is calling him. He clicks on the green ‘accept call’ button as fast as he can.

“Good evening, o mighty Balthazar,” Pedro says, his smiling, pixelated face filling the screen.

“Hello, Pedro,” Balthazar says. “You’re up late.”

“The better to see your silly face, of course.”

Balthazar laughs. “I think you’re the silly one, here,” he says. “I bought you flowers.”

When he holds the vase up to the camera, Pedro smiles so widely and so fully he can almost believe they’re in the same room, instead of halfway across the world from each other and sixteen hours apart.

-

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_12:49 AM_  
[Image]

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_12:50 AM_  
Do you work at Starbucks

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_12:50 AM_  
Because I like you a latte

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_12:52 AM_  
Wait is that yours

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_12:53 AM_  
Ya

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_12:53 AM_  
You hate Starbucks

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_12:54 AM_  
… Did you buy it just for this pick up line

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_12:57 AM_  
I reserve the right not to comment

-

Pedro had called him with the news, he remembers. Probably, he was the first one that was told.

“So you remember when I was applying to all those US schools?” Pedro said when he picked up, no greeting or introduction.

But of course Balthazar wouldn’t have forgotten. Pedro made it sound so nonchalant over the phone, but when they’d been applying for schools, he’d been really intense about it. They’d applied to all the same schools near home, too, but Pedro wanted to go to school in America so badly that he’d actually decided to wait to enroll in New Zealand for a whole semester just so he could wait on the decisions from the States.

“Yeah?”

“I got into a school in NYC,” Pedro said. “Full ride.”

That was no small accomplishment, Balthazar knew; Pedro had made it clear he wouldn’t be able to go if he didn’t get some type of scholarship, and those were rare for international students. On the one hand, he’d never doubted that Pedro could make it. Honestly, if he couldn’t do it, no one else could.

But he’d also known that all of that was leading to this moment, holding his phone to his ear and feeling like the floor was falling from his feet.

“Balthazar?”

How ironic is it that almost as soon as they found each other, they had to let each other go?

If this were happening to anyone else, he’d almost want to laugh.

“Congratulations,” he said. “You deserve it.”

-

[9/13/2015 1:21:20 AM] Pedro Donaldson: heard this song in the store today and now I can’t get it out of my head  
[9/13/2015 1:21:43 AM] Pedro Donaldson: reminds me of you a bit  
[9/13/2015 1:22:02 AM] Pedro Donaldson: https://youtu.be/gI2eO_mNM88

-

“Mind if I practice some today?” Balthazar says when Pedro answers his call. “Too much work earlier, no time to sit down and play at all.”

Pedro rolls his eyes. “Like I would ever mind.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Balthazar takes his guitar out of its case and sets it carefully in his lap.

“So how was your day?”

Balthazar shakes his head as he tunes, lightly plucking at the strings. Pedro likes it when he plays the guitar, he knows, but he can’t get over the compulsion to be as unobtrusive as possible. “Long.”

“Yeah?” Pedro says. “How so?”

He picks at some scales, trying to get the feeling back into his fingers. “Music theory was a bit of a drag today.”

“Please. You eat that shit up.”

He shrugs. “How was your day?”

“Pretty chill,” Pedro says. “Friend invited me to a dinner thing some club he’s in was hosting, so that was fun. Didn’t have to eat shitty cafeteria food, always a plus.”

Balthazar raises his eyebrows. “You have friends?”

“I will fuck you up,” Pedro says automatically.

They settle into silence after a brief laugh, and soon Balthazar actually forgets he’s on camera, that someone else is there. Usually he’d never forget that Pedro is listening to him, but when it comes to his music it’s almost impossible not to lose himself in it, to feel the chords thrumming in his bones, the notes drowning everything out save for the guitar in his hands and the music in his head. When he really gets into the swing of it, it barely even matters what he’s playing, as long as he’s just putting it out into the world.

Somewhere halfway through some number he’s mindlessly picking through, he notices, with a start, that Pedro is smiling.

He stops playing abruptly. “What’re you smirkin’ at?”

“Aw, don’t stop playing,” Pedro says.

“Find something interesting on the internet?”

“No,” Pedro says softly. “It’s just… You were playing Sigh Not So.”

 “Was I?” Balthazar says, mildly surprised.

“Yeah.” Pedro smiles again, and it’s a smile so open and trusting and _genuine_ Balthazar hardly believes he’s actually showing it in public. “You’re beautiful, when you play. And all the rest of the time.”

They’re rarely the type to compliment each other, to communicate with each other in anything but teasing and light-hearted complaining, but when it happens, Balthazar’s heart never fails to skip a beat. 

It seems that not even an ocean’s worth of distance could change that.

-

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_6:26 PM_  
This paper is actually kicking my ass

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_6:27 PM_  
SAVE ME

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_6:30 PM_  
Sending telepathic coffee and good vibes your way

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_6:31 PM_  
Hope you get some sleep tonight

-

Balthazar logs in late one evening and finds, with some alarm, that the icon next to Pedro’s skype picture is green.

He calls immediately.

“It’s four in the morning,” he says as soon as Pedro picks up.

He looks terrible. The light is on, so Balthazar can see just how deep the exhaustion has carved itself into the lines of his face. His hair is messy, unstyled, but he doesn’t appear drunk. Simply unable to sleep, then. But why?

“Stunning observation,” Pedro says. His voice croaks over the computer speakers.

“It’s a Sunday,” Balthazar pushes. “No essays, no tests to stay up for. You don’t go partying on Saturday nights.”

“Thank you. I so greatly appreciate you laying out just how pathetic I really am.”

“I’m just – “ Balthazar exhales. “I just want to make sure you’re okay. But if you need some time to yourself, that’s okay too.”

“No. Please. I don’t want to be alone,” Pedro says, and he sounds so small Balthazar can feel a piece of his heart crack.

“Why didn’t you message me earlier? I could have…” Balthazar shakes his head. _Helped_ is a useless word, when said thousands of kilometers away. “I was free.”

Pedro doesn’t answer for a long minute, just closes his eyes and breathes slowly. Balthazar feels powerless to do anything but let him do it.

At last, he opens his eyes. “What’s the point in going to school in America when everyone I love is on a different continent, across a whole ocean?” Pedro says, wearily. “Is that even worth anything?”

And, with sudden clarity, Balthazar knows.

This whole time, he thought it was hard for him, the one left behind. But what is it like to be the one to leave?

“I guess I have friends here,” Pedro says. “But – some days I feel like _nothing_. Some days I feel like no one, because I don’t have Beatrice’s sarcasm to keep me in line, or Ben’s stupid shenanigans to ground me, or everyone back home, or – or _you_. Who am I, without the rest of you?”

There’s nothing Balthazar can say, in that moment. There’s nothing he can offer but silence, as he sits at his dinner table and listens to Pedro’s heavy breathing.

He would give absolutely everything to hold Pedro the way he deserves, right there, right now.

-

[10/17/2015 9:02:10 AM] Balthazar Jones: Snuck my computer into class today, I’m such a rebel  
[10/17/2015 9:02:21 AM] Balthazar Jones: Living on the wild side of life  
[10/17/2015 9:03:14 AM] Balthazar Jones: I know you’re in class right now (which is why I’m not texting you, you always forget to leave your phone on silent you loser)  
[10/17/2015 9:03:52 AM] Balthazar Jones: And I know things are… rough. To say the least  
[10/17/2015 9:04:23 AM] Balthazar Jones: But I just wanted you to leave you this little reminder, whenever you see it  
[10/17/2015 9:04:41 AM] Balthazar Jones: Everyone back here believes in you  
[10/17/2015 9:05:43 AM] Balthazar Jones: Me, personally? I know you’re one of the most brilliant people I’ve ever met, in every sense of the word  
[10/17/2015 9:06:04 AM] Balthazar Jones: And I know whatever you do with your life, it’s going to be amazing  
[10/17/2015 9:06:19 AM] Balthazar Jones: Never had a doubt about it  
[10/17/2015 9:06:35 AM] Balthazar Jones: I know you’re feeling lonely right now  
[10/17/2015 9:06:48 AM] Balthazar Jones: But don’t ever forget you’re not alone

-

It has been almost two months since Pedro left for the States.

It will be at least another before he comes back.

Not that anyone’s counting.

Balthazar’s begun avoiding some places, doing some things. He stops getting coffee at a certain store, for instance. He can’t remember the last time he went out to a party. He hasn’t even thought about visiting Messina High, even though some of his friends are still there.

No matter how much he wishes it weren’t true, there are just so many places and things that he associates with Pedro. It doesn’t feel right doing those things alone. Just catching someone who’s vaguely the same height out of the corner of his eye sets his heartbeat racing and disappointment flooding his veins soon after when he realizes it’s just a stranger. He doesn’t want to confront what it would be like to actually expect a response or an action and be met with empty space.

Anonymity within a sea of people who don’t know his name has become a comfort. Balthazar has no affinity for crowds unless he doesn’t have to talk to any of them; Pedro taught him the art of forgetting other people exist.

And at university, there are no memories attached to the giant lecture halls Pedro has never stepped foot in and the fields Pedro has never played football on. Balthazar isn’t there to make memories. Balthazar is there to learn, and write music, and slowly remember what it’s like to survive without Pedro Donaldson in a ten mile radius.

He can imagine Pedro telling him he should learn to live on his own, that he shouldn’t be this much of a mess. And he isn’t, most of the time. Most of the time, he’s actually pretty content. He still sees the others around, for lunch or a quick cup of coffee. University’s going well, and he has more time to immerse himself in his music outside of class than he ever did in high school. Life goes on; he doesn’t need to learn how to live without Pedro because he already knows how. Has had years of experience, in fact, compared to the paltry few months they did have together.

But just because he’s his own person and doesn’t need anyone else doesn’t mean he doesn’t want Pedro around anyway. He wants him by his side. He wants him like he wants peace of mind, or the light of the moon on a dark night.

One month, he has to remind himself, is nothing compared to five years. He can do one month.

And anyway, it’s not like he doesn’t have Pedro at all. They have phones, and video calling, and though it wreaks havoc on the sleep Balthazar gets on the weekends he doesn’t care. Small sacrifices, compared to what he’s already had to give up.

Time slips by him so much that the carnations on his sill wither and die, but in real life dead flowers don’t have metaphorical significance, and so he sweeps up the petals left on his floor and does not think about the ending of things.

-

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_1:46 AM_  
I FEEL PRETTY

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_1:46 AM_  
OH SO PRETTY 

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_1:46 AM_  
I FEEL PRETTY AND WITTY 

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_1:46 AM_  
AND GAAAAAAAAY 

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_1:48 AM_  
Oh my god are you drunk texting me right now 

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_1:48 AM_  
Is that what’s happening 

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_1:49 AM_  
Are you drunk texting west side story at me while I’m IN CLASS 

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_1:50 AM_  
Sure, I’m drunk 

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_1:50 AM_  
Drunk on LOVE 

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_1:51 AM_  
You are so totally drunk right now

-

There’s a week when Pedro and Balthazar both get bombarded with exams and papers, and days pass by them before Balthazar realizes they haven’t actually called at all. Small wonder; the hours that they’ll both be awake and not in class are limited enough as it is, without having to use them to fulfill other obligations.

It’s neither of their faults, but after maybe the third or fourth apology text exchanged between them pushing back their skype dates yet another day, Balthazar finds himself getting cynical. If they can’t make time for each other like this, who’s to say they should make time for each other at all?

He shouldn’t think that way. Really, he has no reason to leave Pedro. But it’s hard not to feel the sting of it, the silence, when words are all they have these days.

- 

[11/3/2015 7:09:58 PM] Balthazar Jones: Finally got around to watching that show you’re always going on about  
[11/3/2015 7:10:13 PM] Balthazar Jones: You know I’m not really much for cartoons but  
[11/3/2015 7:11:09 PM] Balthazar Jones: You’re right, it was absolutely incredible (and so short? I want more, but at the same time it was the perfect length? I don’t understand)  
[11/3/2015 7:14:25 PM] Balthazar Jones: But there was just… something about how nothing is what it seems? Really makes you think about the fragility of reality and how things that never change can be altered by something that seems so commonplace to us  
[11/3/2015 7:15:02 PM] Balthazar Jones: (I can see why you said you really identify with the older one)  
[11/3/2015 7:15:46 PM] Balthazar Jones: (But I hope you realize, like the older one, you set things with your brother right in the end)

-

“See, this is what I don’t understand,” Pedro says. “How are you going to walk into my room at one in the morning wearing sunglasses and think ‘it’s bright out’ is any sort of good excuse? And look, I’m not judgmental, you can live your life however you want, smoke a metric fuckton of weed if you want, but I am going to judge you if you’re not going to be smart about it. It’s bright out? Seriously? _Seriously_?”

Balthazar can’t help but laugh at Pedro’s face, scrunched up in both confusion and disgust. “Your roommate sounds like a riot, honestly,” he says.

“I just don’t understand,” Pedro says, waving his hand for emphasis. “Like, I expect better from you.”

“But he can’t be all that bad,” Balthazar says.

“Well, I guess not, but he has this thing for playing his music really loudly at horrible times of the day. I don’t mind that either, usually, I promise, I mean, I put up with your music, don’t I?”

“Hey, now, watch yourself.”

“No, I mean, like, your music is actually good,” Pedro says, clearly on a roll now. “I don’t mind good music. But his is absolute _shit_!”

“I don’t want to know.”

“No,” Pedro says, shaking his head almost viciously. “You certainly don’t.”

“All right. All out of your system now?”

“Never,” Pedro answers. “It will never be out of my system. I will complain for the rest of eternity.”

“Write a book,” Balthazar says. “At least then you’ll make some money.”

“Nah. Too much commitment.”

“Write a song. Teenage hipsters will eat that shit up.”

“So basically you’re suggesting I become a better-looking Bob Dylan who complains about roommates,” Pedro says.

“Nah, Bob Dylan’s too good for you,” Balthazar says. “I can see you rocking a Justin Bieber vibe.”

“Wow. Fuck you too.”

It’s Sunday, two in the afternoon, and Balthazar has pulled the blinds shut so he can feel closer to the night Pedro is experiencing. Not a great substitute, but if he rests his laptop on his bed and pulls the covers over himself, he can almost pretend.

When he looks back at the computer screen, Pedro’s face is so zoomed in that he can only see his nose and part of an eye.

“What are you doing?” Balthazar says, vaguely amused at the image of Pedro pressing himself to a webcam.

“Trying to get myself as close to you as possible.”

Fondness bursts in Balthazar’s gut. “I don’t think that’s going to make a difference.”

“Metaphorically speaking, Balthazar,” Pedro says. “Metaphorically speaking.”

It’s times like these, blanket over his head and Pedro’s pixelated face flooding his vision, Balthazar almost forgets there’s a world that exists outside the one he and Pedro have created with computer screens and late-night text messages.

-

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_4:18 PM_  
You’re a lot like the sun, did I ever tell you that?

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_4:19 PM_  
Not that my sky’s dark right now

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_4:19 PM_  
Just a bit cloudy

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_4:21 PM_  
You are unbelievable go to bed oh my god

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_4:22 PM_  
( <3)

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_4:22 PM_  
(More than I can say)

-

“You’ve never actually said that you loved me,” Pedro says.

Balthazar curls in closer toward the laptop. Though he’s lying down and Pedro’s face appears sideways, he can still see the casual uncertainty in the other boy’s face, hiding some deep feeling of discomfort.

“But I do,” he says. He wishes they didn’t have to have this conversation, and he knows why they do. “You know I do.”

“Yeah, I know. But can you actually say the words, Balthazar? Can you say them right now?”

Balthazar turns his face away from the camera. “Two in the morning, over here. It’s getting late. Don’t you have class to go to soon?”

“There, you see?” Pedro says in a burst of frustration. “This is exactly what I mean. How am I supposed to help you and support you and – and _love_ you if you won’t even talk to me?”

Balthazar rolls over on his back and stares at the ceiling.

“Words are important,” he says, “and you can give so much more with the things you say to other people than you mean to. And I’m saving all of mine up.”

“For what?” He doesn’t look at Pedro’s face, but he knows it’ll be contorted in a grimace of annoyance, at his inability to get to the point.

“How can I give you my heart,” he says quietly, “when I don’t know if you’re ever going to give it back?”

“Why would you – “

“You’re in the States, Pedro. What if you don’t come back? What will I do then?”

Silence, then. He thinks about dry flower petals, and the fading memory of what Pedro's laughter sounds like in person, and he swallows hard, wishing fiercely for the sudden heat behind his eyelids to go away.

“Balthazar, I…” A shaky sigh across the line. The bad skype connection makes it rife with static, but he doesn’t need to be in the same room with Pedro to know the mountains and valleys that sound would make. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you like this.”

“No,” he says, turning back on his side so Pedro can see his face. It’s dark in Balthazar’s room – he didn’t bother turning on the lights – but he knows the backlight of his laptop screen will be enough to show how serious he is. “You didn’t hurt me. We both know this was the best opportunity for you, don’t blame yourself. It’s just… hard.”

Hard. What an understatement. It wasn’t just hard to have to watch him walk onto a plane that Balthazar knew would carry him onto an entirely different continent just months after Pedro finally accepted him into his arms. It wasn’t just hard to drive away from the airport knowing it would be months until they’d see each other again, if not longer. It isn’t just hard to fall asleep at night, feeling the emptiness in his bed like he can feel the emptiness in his heart. It has been, and still is, impossible.

But here’s the thing. Despite all that, despite the fact that Balthazar started missing Pedro from the moment he turned away from him at the airport, despite the fact that sometimes the missing drowns out all the other feelings in his chest, despite the fact that the more days that pass the more impossible it gets, Balthazar still does it. He still waits for Pedro, because that is what he has always done, and that is what he will always do. He hardly remembers how to do anything else.

And it is impossible, it is almost certainly the most impossible thing he has ever had to do, but if Balthazar can still be standing and breathing and _surviving_ after all this time, he will do it tomorrow, too. And he will do it for as long as it takes, until he can finally be in a place in the world that is close enough to Pedro to forget what it’s like to miss him.

“I’ll come back to you,” Pedro says. “Whatever it takes, I’ll come back to you.”

Balthazar closes his eyes. It’s not a promise, not quite, but it’s close enough, and he’ll take it gladly.

In his heart, he makes a promise of his own.

-

[11/22/2015 11:56:07 AM] Pedro Donaldson: You are almost definitely asleep right now  
[11/22/2015 11:56:39 AM] Pedro Donaldson: I honestly don’t know why I’m bothering  
[11/22/2015 11:57:11 AM] Pedro Donaldson: But I have this sudden urge to go to the beach right now  
[11/22/2015 11:57:26 AM] Pedro Donaldson: With you  
[11/22/2015 11:57:41 AM] Pedro Donaldson: I just think about standing by the sea  
[11/22/2015 11:58:02 AM] Pedro Donaldson: And I can’t picture it without you next to me  
[11/22/2015 11:58:54 AM] Pedro Donaldson: Nothing else more peaceful, is there? Sound of the ocean, the boy I love close enough to kiss…  
[11/22/2015 11:59:15 AM] Pedro Donaldson: Just the thought of it makes me feel less afraid

-

Pedro will come home tomorrow.

Balthazar rehearses the words he wants to say to him in his thoughts until he can’t stay awake anymore.

Words are rarely adequate, especially for what he wants – _needs_ – to express. But if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that they would be less adequate said in a chat window made of lines of code instead of substance. So he has to try. He has to.

-

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_10:12 AM_  
About to board

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_10:13 AM_  
Only twenty more hours……

 ** _From: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_10:15 AM_  
Soon.

-

Balthazar sees him almost as soon as he emerges from the terminal.

It’s six in the evening, and there are smudges of exhaustion under his eyes. He has a pair of heavy black headphones Balthazar hasn’t seen before slung around his neck, and a sweater in an unfamiliar color knotted casually around his waist, and his hair looks different in person than it does on a screen. He looks more tired than Balthazar has ever seen him.

But he is there, he exists and he is standing merely dozens of feet away, and when he catches sight of Balthazar his face splits into a grin, warm and awake and _alive_ , and Balthazar has waited this long; he will not wait any longer.

He does not run into Pedro’s arms so much as he falls into them, and the way he smells is exactly how he remembers.

-

 ** _To: Pedro Donaldson_**  
_7:40 PM_  
Welcome home.

-

“It’s a nice place you’ve got,” Pedro murmurs. They’re in bed, limbs and bodies tangled together – Balthazar’s fantasized about this, honestly, just the sight of Pedro under his covers without his parents nearby to tell them what’s appropriate and not – and it’s not yet nine, but he’s understandably tired. That’s fine. Balthazar is fine with Pedro falling asleep before him, as long as he doesn’t have to let go of him.

“Better,” Balthazar answers, “now that you’re here.”

“Yeah?”

There is only a moment of hesitation, now, rather than an eternity of silence, before Balthazar says, “I love you.”

It feels surprisingly good to say it. His heartbeat doesn’t speed up, like he’d anticipated it to. He’s been saving these words like stones, but the time to release them is long-overdue, and so he feels the way that only truth can make him feel. Like he’s been set free.

Moments of silence slip by. Balthazar leans his head back to look at Pedro's face, suddenly nervous, and Pedro stares back with wide eyes. His lips are parted in shock.

“Are you…” Balthazar swallows. “Are you okay?”

The surprise dissipates; Pedro’s face breaks into a smile that crinkles his eyes.

“I love you too,” he says, and presses his lips against Balthazar’s forehead, and Balthazar feels light, and happy, and so, so in love.

He reaches out and finds the strong beat of Pedro’s heart under his thin shirt. The relativity of how important words are is constantly shifting, and Balthazar can feel, with the fulfillment of their mutual and silent promises, the earth shifting back into its proper place.

“I want to stay like this forever.”

Quiet, for a few moments.

“We only have half a week.” Pedro’s voice is gentle.

Half a week is not enough. A lifetime would not be enough.

“I know.” Balthazar presses his face into Pedro’s chest. “I miss you already.”

“You don’t have to miss me now,” Pedro whispers into his hair. “Let’s just… take it one step at a time.”

He’s quiet, after that. Balthazar can tell from the evenness of his breathing that he’s fallen asleep.

One step at a time. He likes the sound of that. Much easier than taking it all at once. Because forever, inevitably, is made up of days of absence and distance.

But forever is also made up of this, the regularity of Pedro’s pulse, and quiet warmth that speaks louder than words ever could.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to the xx for the lovely song “VCR”.


End file.
